# 9

# the end.

The last few weeks of Keeley’s life had a few events that make me smile. As mentioned, we were living in a duplex somehow within the periphery of the oldest, most elegant and statuesque neighborhood in Denver. A typical walk took us past exquisitely designed homes that must have dated back to early 1900’s. I have no reference point of eras for great architecture, nor do I make any claims to have extensive knowledge of what constitutes historical design. But. I know that the homes we would walk by were exceptional. I say this to paint a picture of wide neighborhood roads with massive, overhanging mature trees and professionally landscaped gardens. All relatively visible to the passerby.

The homes aligned next to one another. One old mansion sat long on a corner with a huge front yard. The home had a sense of being uncared for, it seemed lonely. Empty. Somehow I must have been privy to a neighborhood tale that there was a young, older man (60’s) who lived there alone as his wife had passed and kids were grown. I never saw any ‘life’ at the home - which was typical because these home owners probably had a dozen homes all over the world.

On a weekend afternoon, within two or three weeks before Keeley’s last day, we were on a typical neighborhood stroll. The man stood in the wide, expansive front lawn with a black dog a bit bigger than Keeley. The man looked like his home. Disheveled, but kind. As we walked by, he said hello.

The man asked if Keeley would like to say hi. He appeared to be training his dog, as they were on the front lawn with no leash and maybe some sort of a toy to practice fetching. I gave the man my typical response, and assumed he would nod in appreciation of me not setting up his dog for a ‘tangle’.

The man said, gently - ‘she’s fine…she is giving the sign that she wants to play.’ I let Keeley off leash, and the two dogs played for maybe 20 minutes. The black dog, I learned, was still a puppy. An Australian Mastiff recently shipped to the states, and then to the new owner. Something about this experience felt so validating. Not validating me, as the owner of Keeley, but validating for Keeley.

There was another neighborhood character that I had befriended. A retired medical doctor that never retired. I wish I could remember the details of his dog story. The man and his Italian greyhound would walk around the neighborhood off leash. We were close to a popular shopping area with a big mall and extended streets that included more shopping, restaurants, coffee shops, etc. Plenty of benches and outdoor patios to sit and people watch. The dog owner had a presence and a certain type of enmeshment with his dog that drew others to them - like street performers. They would sit, and the dog would lay like a scarf around the owner’s neck. I would always be awed that this man walked an Italian Greyhound OFF LEASH (the dog looked like it could go from 0 to 60 mph in a SHOT).

Our neighborhood was framed by busy roads. Within the neighborhood, it was quiet and relatively spacious. Still, I was forever scared that Keeley would take off and get hit by a car. Funny how Keeley and I went from this untamed, wild nature to me being a hesitant veer-away-from-all leash walker.

The man and his greyhound walked by my duplex one early evening. My duplex was on the corner of a very busy one way street - 6th avenue. I had a friend from school over, and we were sitting on my front porch. Keeley was inside, and the big front window was open. My friend had a new puppy that was still happy to be on her lap, or under her chair. The man and the off leash Italian-skinny-fast-crazy-disproportionate-long-legs-that-looked-like-it-could-jump-straight-up-20- feet, came onto the porch. He said, ‘let her out here’ - speaking of Michellie. I’m sure I turned pale. Like, what are you thinking? We are on a corner. He and my relationship was based on me in awe of him walking off leash with his dog, without a care or concern. He had all the confidence in the world that Keeley could manage on the patio. I let her out. She was so happy. No issue.

We drove up to Breckenridge the last weekend she was alive. We had gone for a run before we left, and I forgot to bring water. Keeley was the BEST road trip companion. She had this way of sitting up and looking out the windows at the scenery, as if she was really enjoying herself. She had the slightly open jowl thing going on that looks like a big, happy smile. The traffic sucked, and we ended up backtracking and taking an alternative highway that would take us another three hours. I was going up for a party, and I dropped Keeley off at my friend’s house (put out food and water) and then left for the event.

When I got back that evening, I recall letting her out to go to the bathroom and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The next morning, I got up and drank weekend coffee - I could do this for hours, and it was typical for Keeley to stay sleeping in bed for up to an hour or two after I got out. It had been a long time. I went in to check on her, and she wasn’t moving. I picked her up and brought her out to the couch. She was distant, and her gums were white. My best angle was that she was dehydrated. I brought water to her and she did drink.

I managed to get her down the mountain. Once home, I gave her some water with electrolytes. She was laying on my bed. I laid behind her along the length of her. I held her and whispered through the alphabet. Each letter sharing an appreciation of what she meant to me. I distinctly remember the letter ‘u’. Us. I love us Keeley. I love what we got to be together.

She actually rebounded and I went to work the next day. When I got home from work, her little heart was still beating too fast, it seemed out of rhythm. I took her to the vet, and the vet said she was good.

The next morning it was back. She moved so slow that I didn’t need a leash. I took her out the front to see if she could walk to the corner. She walked to the car and just sat on her hunches by the back passenger side door. I left her to get my keys. She. Unleashed on the corner. I knew I wasn’t coming home with her.

It’s weird when you think of what this moment would be like. I just knew. Keeley was out. She made the choice. Even when we sat in the garden at the vet. There was no last special moment. She was done. Ready.

After she was dead, the vet said I could stay with her as long as I wanted. It didn’t make sense to me. Keeley was part of everything now. I could feel it. She was not in that body.

Somehow I decided that I would just follow the feelings that showed up. I would cry when crying came - wherever and whenever within reason. I made the choice to enjoy the memories, and be happy that I got to have Keeley. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to feel. Something about the entire experience of Keeley seemed like a gift that was intended to be enjoyed. Always.

Within the next week I moved. I went for a walk.

I met Smoosh.